A benefit cited by way of reproach is equivalent to an injury.
Hell, covering all with its gloomy vapors, has cast shadows on even the holiest eyes.
To save our imperiled honor everything must be sacrificed, even virtue.
The joys of the evil flow away like a torrent.
All is asleep: the army, the wind, and Neptune.
Can a faith that does nothing be called sincere?
None love, but they who wish to love.
Do not they bring it to pass by knowing that they know nothing at all?
Sun, I come to see you for the last time.
I have pushed virtue to outright brutality.
Honor, without money, is a mere malady.
When I'm carried away, isn't it clear that my heart contradicts my mouth?
Have there ever been more submissive slaves? Adoring, even in their irons, the God who punishes them.
There may be guilt when there is too much virtue.
Me, rule? Me, place the State under my law, when my feeble reason no longer rules even myself!
Small crimes always precede great crimes. Whoever has been able to transgress the limits set by law may afterwards violate the most sacred rights; crime, like virtue, has its degrees, and never have we seen timid innocence pass suddenly to extreme licentiousness.
Pain is unjust, and all the arguments That cannot soothe it only rouse suspicion.
Great crimes come never singly; they are linked To sins that went before.
To repair the irreparable ravages of time.
If I could believe that this was said sincerely, I could put up with anything.
By dying I wanted to maintain my honor, and hide a flame so black from the daylight!
Thank the Gods! My misery exceeds all my hopes!
Hippolytus can feel, and feels nothing for me!
Ah, why can't I know if I love, or if I hate?
The faith that acts not, is it truly faith?
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